


darkness exists to make light truly count

by thisisdefinitelynotme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, Caring Dean, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depressed Castiel, Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 05:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10610436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisdefinitelynotme/pseuds/thisisdefinitelynotme
Summary: Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak are both high schoolers separated by a shared past and misunderstandings. One is hurt and angry; the other is utterly empty. Can one put aside these differences to help the other?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Uneven Odds - Sleeping At Last.

It was just a normal day as kids of all young ages played on the playground. Though Dean was just four at the time, he was a very friendly and playful little boy, not shy of talking with anyone, even some of the big kids. Mary Winchester watched her son fondly. She was proud of her beautiful little boy. Not all children enjoyed company - like, for example, the blue eyed boy with a shock of messy black hair who looked to be about Dean's age. She's seen him at the park before, but never with any other children. He simply preferred to play by himself - indeed, today he was rolling around a red ball.

Mary couldn't help but watch this boy curiously, so different from her own son. She then decided that, well, staring at an unknown child could probably be considered creepy and decided to return her eyes to Dean, who was currently playing on the swing set. But something made her look back to the blue eyed boy - and he wasn't there anymore. Perhaps he left with his mother? But something didn't feel right. Glancing around, she finally found him.

In the middle of the road, going after his ball.

A vehicle could be heard coming.

Her motherly instincts instantly kicked in, and she was running toward him in a heartbeat. As the car turned the curve, Mary shoved the little boy out of the way.

She didn't have time to run herself.

Mary Winchester died on impact.

A couple of hours later, when the police discovered what exactly happened in that moment, Dean saw that other little boy. Though he wasn't really sure what was going on, he did understand that his mama wasn't ever going to come back, and that boy was somehow responsible.

From that moment on, Dean despised that boy.

 

 

Dean didn't see that boy again. He was in high school, and had actually moved on from his mother's death. After all, he had a strong support system - his dad, Uncle Bobby, and Sammy were always there for each other, even if Sam was just six months old when Mary died and didn't remember her at all.

With high school comes popularity. Dean was known as a jock, playing both football and baseball, but he was also genuinely kind and friendly and exceptionally bright. There really was nothing that he couldn't do in school, no one that he couldn't talk to. Bullies weren't a problem, and he was well respected in all circles for his own tendency to use respect. He'd even been a sort of mentor for others in the closet - his bisexuality was recognized by all in the school; as a result, kids felt comfortable talking to Dean.

On a September day his junior year, Dean was casually sitting in his desk in English homeroom, when his best friend Charlie arrived and took her own seat in front of him.

"So have you heard?" the redhead asked, practically bouncing out of her seat.

Dean shook his head. "Heard what?"

"There's a new student. I think he's gonna be here today." She was basically vibrating with excitement - Charlie loved meeting new people and establishing their level of nerdiness.

"Do you know his name?"

"It's Castiel. I... um... overheard some teachers talking," Charlie informed with a somewhat guilty expression.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Charlie, you can't just hack into the school's computers whenever you want."

"Why not?" she asked, the perfect picture of innocence.

At that moment the bell rang and Ms. Harvelle entered the room grinning. "Students, we have someone new who will be joining us." Charlie turned and winked at Dean, who shot her a sarcastic bitch face. "His name is Castiel Novak. Come on in, Castiel."

Through the open door walked a boy who Dean figured to be about as tall as himself, if not a tad shorter, with super unruly raven hair. He was dressed casually enough - T-shirt, jeans - but these things did nothing to hide the muscular body underneath. In other words, as Dean noticed while staring, this boy was _gorgeous_ . And then the boy's eyes scanned the classroom, and Dean saw brilliant blue.

It hit Dean like a truck - he's only seen eyes like those once in his life. This boy - _Castiel_ \- was the one who led to his mother's death. Unbidden, memories of that day rushed back: the playground, the car, police, ambulance... a little boy. Dean had made his peace with it - really, he had - but suddenly everything was opened back up, like a knife retracing an old scar.

He shared English with his mother's killer. A guy who he just realized he's been openly gawking at. Fan-freaking-tastic.

There were a handful of open seats in the back of the classroom, and Castiel claimed the one in the back corner. _Good,_ Dean thought. _At least I don't have to see him. I can ignore him._

And Dean _did_ manage to ignore him, for the most part. But it was made easy by Castiel, who never spoke or did anything whatsoever to draw attention to himself. Sometimes Dean honestly forgot the kid was in his class, especially since that was the only one they shared, and also since he seemed to be absent a lot. When he did realize, though, the pain struck him once again, and a rush of anger coursed through his veins.

_Let's just keep ignoring him._

 

 

It was January before that method stopped working. The week after returning from Christmas break, Ms. Harvelle asked the students to write a narrative - either fiction or nonfiction - centered on a family. Dean, of course, chose the obvious route of talking almost entirely about Sam and the first time he had ever tried making toast by himself (which somehow ended with a small fire and the blackest bread Dean had ever seen).

"I read your narratives," Ms. Harvelle declared a couple of days after they were due, smiling. "I must say, I was impressed. I laughed. I cried. All of you exceeded my expectations." 

Dean smiled to himself; he was rather proud of his work. 

The teacher continued, "I must point out one student's story, though. Castiel" - Dean glanced back at the kid, who seemed to be trying to make himself as small as possible - "yours was so fantastically well written that I believe you left a bit of your soul on the page. Your story - about a young boy who lost his mother due to tragedy... It was wonderful, Castiel."

 _A young boy who lost his mother due to tragedy._ Those words repeated themselves within Dean's mind. This kid wrote about Dean losing his mother? He took a major heartbreak and turned it into Ms. Harvelle's favorite story? What the hell gave him the right?

Dean missed the next few moments of class due to his fuming, but when he did glance around the room, he noticed Castiel's seat was empty.  _Probably off laughing to himself about what he did._ This only made Dean more enraged. He simply couldn't sit still. 

He raised his hand and asked to go to the bathroom. It was once he exited the room that he saw Castiel leave the bathroom himself. Both stopped dead when they saw the other, the only two in the hallway. 

"What the actual hell, Castiel?" Dean seethed. 

"Dean, I -" he started, but was interrupted, unwilling to meet the other boy's eyes. His posture was slumped and hunched in. For some reason this only made Dean madder. 

"No. You don't get to speak." He angrily pointed his finger at Castiel and advanced a step. "I know who you are and I know you know who I am. What gives you the right to write about my mom?"

He finally met Dean's eyes, and there was so much emptiness there that Dean really didn't understand, but it didn't dissuade his rant. 

"I didn't -"

"That's crap and we both know it!" Dean's voice was echoing in the halls, so he was forced to lower it. "You know what you did."

There was a significant pause where they just stared at each other. Dean noted with a twisted glee how utterly defeated the other looked. Then Castiel dropped his gaze to the tile floor and whispered, "I'm sorry."

That was the last straw. "You don't get to be  _sorry,_ Castiel!" He was one level below fully yelling. " _You killed my mom._ " 

It was strange how instantaneous the effect of those words crossed over Castiel's entire body. His shoulders stiffened so tightly that it surely must be painful. Most remarkably, though, was his face - the utter dejectedness was fully and completely replaced with the blankest expression that Dean had ever seen on another human being. His eyes were absolutely expressionless. They didn't even seem blue anymore; it was like they transformed into the dullest grey. Without further ado, Castiel - or rather, the robot that suddenly replaced him - walked straight down the hallway, past Dean, and turned the corner. Belatedly Dean realized that this guy had left his things in the classroom. 

After seeing the shocking change in Castiel, and hearing his own words, Dean felt badly. He knew he was in the wrong, though it still angered him to think that his own tragedy was the inspiration for the story. He knew he should go apologize. 

No, maybe Castiel needed a moment to get himself back together. 

Dean would apologize tomorrow. 

 

 

The next day Castiel wasn't at school. Dean felt a twinge of guilt, but ultimately tried putting it out of his mind. After all, he didn't know the guy; his absence could be a coincidence. 

 

 

When he wasn't at school the next day either, Dean knew something was wrong, but he didn't know what to do. He didn't have his phone number, or know where he lived. He wasn't even sure who Castiel's friends were. The only place he knew to start was with Ms. Harvelle. 

At the end of class, after everyone else had left, Dean approached the teacher awkwardly at her desk. "Ms. Harvelle?"

"Yes, Dean?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, I'm not sure the rules about this or anything, but do you know how I can get in touch with Castiel?" He felt his cheeks burn a little in awkwardness. 

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. "Why? I can't give out a student's information without good reason, and, as far as I've observed, you two aren't really close."

 _That was an understatement._ "It's just that... well, you know he hasn't been here in a couple days, and I just wanted to check on him."

At that, her suspicious demeanor crumpled. "That's probably for the best. I can give you his address."

Dean let out a nervous breath. "Thanks, Ms. Harvelle."

As she scribbled it down on a piece of paper which she handed to Dean, she said, "You know, I think I embarrassed him the other day when I mentioned his paper. I think he wrote it about himself losing his own mom."

Dean froze. "Why do you think that?"

"There was a lot of pain written within those words. You can't make something like that up, even if it happened to someone else that he knew. It was too personal." She sighed sadly. "You're a good kid, Dean. Thanks for checking on him."

As he left the room, it all came crashing down.  _His story wasn't about me? It was about himself?_  And he yelled the most hurtful things at him. Dean didn't deserve a "thanks" or a "you're a good kid". No, he should get the Absolute Dick Award. First place, second place, and all the honorable mentions. 

One thing was for sure though: something was wrong with Castiel, and Dean was pretty sure it was his fault. 

 

 

As soon as the bell rang to signal the end of school, Dean bolted to the Impala to wait for Sam. As soon as his little brother entered the passenger seat, he said, "Hey Dean. Why are you so tense?"

Curse him and his stupid observational skills. "I'm uh - I'm gonna go visit... um... a friend at his house after I drop you off at home."

"Why the tenseness though?"

Dean sighed and pulled out of the parking lot. "I just... I said some things to him that I need to apologize for."

Dean could feel Sam staring at him. Then his little brother reached over and pinched him arm. "Geez Sammy! What was that for?"

He shrugged. "Just trying to make sure you're actually my brother. You passed, by the way."

Only thirty minutes later - much too soon, in Dean's opinion - he found himself in front of the house listed at the address Ms. Harvelle provided. It was small and kind of shabby, with the yard in need of a little attention. There were no vehicles out front, or any discernible lights on inside, but Dean didn't know where else to look for Castiel; therefore, without any rational thought, he decided to go in the house. 

He knocked softly, but unsurprisingly, no one answered. He turned the doorknob - it was unlocked, and the door was pushed open with a small  _squeak._

Inside the house was rather unusual. Although Castiel had lived here at least since September, the house was incredibly barren. There was a minimum amount of furniture and few discernible personal effects. Absolutely no pictures could be found anywhere. A blanket of complete silence covered the atmosphere. Also, with it being January, it was freezing inside. Clearly there was no internal heating source active. Surely Ms. Harvelle was mistaken. No one, especially not a seventeen year old, could possibly live in this house. Except Dean had to be sure before he left. 

He turned a corner and saw a closed door to his right. Silently he pressed his ear to it, listening for signs of life. Hearing none, he decided to open it anyway. 

The room inside was just as bare as the rest of the house, with one exception. There was a bed with a blanket on top of it. Underneath that, there was a mass curled up. 

Though he could only see a dark mess of hair (the mass was facing away from the door), he knew instantly that it was Castiel. Cautiously, as though approaching a wild animal, Dean approached the bed. The closer he got, the more he realized that Castiel's shirt was the same one that he had been wearing the last time Dean saw him. For a heart stopping moment, he noticed that Castiel was unmoving and looked  _dead_. However, the closer he came, the more he could see the shallow rise and fall of his back with breaths. 

An unbidden thought came to mind: had Castiel been here just like this since that day? And then Dean realized with a shock: he probably had. 

The name escaped his lips breathily before he could even think about it. "Cas?"

"Go away," rasped a voice that had clearly been unused. 

Dean was now beside the bed in front of the boy's face. He was pale, and his lips were exceptionally chapped. There were dark bruises underneath his eyes. His hair looked greasy with lack of washing, and he clearly hadn't shaved in a while. "Have you been here for two days?"

"So what if I have?" he grumbled. He hadn't even opened his eyes. 

"Cas..." Dean said again. He could not even imagine the pain this boy was going through. 

"Go away," he said again. 

"Can't do that."

"If you're here to punch me, or yell at me, please go ahead and do it so you can leave."

Dean honestly wanted to cry at how little he thought of himself and how it was Dean's own fault. "I'm not here to hurt you. I came to apologize for what I said."

"Why? You were completely right. I did what you said. I am the guilty one."

His tone was utterly empty. Dean sighed, knowing that Cas wasn't going to accept his apology just yet. "What happened to your mom?"

Castiel's eyes flew open, though he blinked a lot and squinted as though the room was too bright (though the curtain was covering the window and it was actually rather dim in the room). His eyes were so blue that it shocked Dean. "Why? Why do you care?"

"Look man, I felt really bad about what I said and I started getting worried about you. I asked Ms. Harvelle for your address and she told me she thought that your story was about you losing your mom."

Cas didn't say anything, just stared at Dean, clearly waiting for more. "And I care because..." _Why do I care?_ "I shouldn't have lashed out like that. You just looked so hurt, and nobody deserves to look like that."

Castiel blinked and closed his eyes again. "I do. Deserve it, that is."

"Why do you think that?"

He ignored the question. "You see that I'm fine, now please leave me alone."

"You  _aren't_ fine."

"I am."

Dean sighed deeply. This wasn't going well. "Will you be honest with me?"

A pause. "Yes."

"Have you been in this bed ever since you got here after I yelled at you?"

"Yes."

"Have you left for any reason? Like eating?"

"No."

This can't just be about what Dean said, can it? Something else occurred to him. "Where is your dad?"

Another lengthy pause. Dean almost thought he had fallen asleep, until he said, "You really won't go away, will you?"

"Nope."

"And you aren't here to hurt me?"

So blunt it almost physically hurt Dean. "No, Cas. I just wanna help."

A sigh. "I suppose I shall tell you my story."

He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Dean took this time to gingerly sit on the edge of the bed, which creaked under his weight. Castiel's eyes fluttered open and he took a deep breath. "So I'm an only child, and my family had always been narrowed to just my mom, dad, and myself. I don't remember anything that happened before" - he gulped, which must have been hard because of how parched he sounded - "before the incident, but I do remember after. My dad would be gone for days at a time before returning, drunk. My mom never really talked to me, either. She sent me to school, and when I came home, I was on my own. Alone. I withdrew from myself, even though, really, I was too young to understand."

He paused, a faraway look in his eyes. Dean realized that he still had not moved his body in the entire time he'd been there. "When I was eight, my mother finally left. No word or explanation. No goodbye. I woke up, and she was gone. I haven't heard from her since. She could be dead, or she could be happy away from me. My dad, of course, blamed me. Which he should - it was my fault, after all." Dean started to interrupt, but he wasn't really sure what to say. "He kept drinking, kept telling me how worthless I was. That's essentially how my entire life has gone. Then in August we moved here for some reason. That's it."

"When was the last time you saw your dad?"

"Maybe a week or two ago. His absences have lengthened considerably since I got older."

Dean was absolutely stunned at the depth of his pain. He wasn't really sure where to start. "You aren't worthless, Cas. You had nothing to do with your parents' faults."

"But I am. I'm useless. I am only here to take up space. Nobody cares, Dean. I've never had any friends, anybody to talk to. They all ignore me. I'm not telling you that so you'll pity me. I'm saying it so you can understand how pathetic I am."

"I care, Cas," Dean said in a small voice.

"No, you don't. You just don't want my situation on your conscience. I ruined your life. I should have died that day. It should've been me." Castiel looked straight into Dean's eyes. "I deserve to die."

Suddenly it all made sense. The isolation. The lack of food and water. The lack of showering. The absence of care about personal well-being. Staying in bed for days. Castiel was  _depressed_ .

Cas was trying to kill himself by wasting away.

And no one, not even his own father, cared.

"No Cas, you _don't_ deserve to die. You were four - you didn't know that being in the road could be dangerous. If you wanna point the finger at someone, blame the guy that sped around a curve in front a children's playground. It could've just as easily been me in that road. You aren't to blame for your parents, either. They were probably like they were before you were even born. You probably think that if you had died, they would've been fine, but truthfully, they probably would've been separated sooner."

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Then Castiel said quietly, "Nobody cares that I'm broken. No one would care if I died."

"I care, Cas. I know I ain't much, but I do care. I am just so sorry. I spent this year blaming you, and ignoring you. Maybe if I hadn't, I would've recognized that something was wrong."

"Please don't apologize to me. I should only apologize to you."

"Fine. Then I forgive you."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Dean. That is an important statement. Please don't say it if you don't mean it."

"Cas, I mean it more than I've ever meant it before."

They stared at each other, silently daring the other to back down. "Well, that's unfortunate, because I can't forgive myself, and neither should you."

"Sucks for you, because you can't tell me who I can and can't forgive. Maybe if I can forgive you, you can learn not to blame yourself. Deal?"

The response was hesitant, and if it hadn't been so silent in that room, then Dean would've missed it. "Deal."

Dean smiled slightly in relief and he thought maybe - _just maybe_ \- Cas' face, though unsmiling, was just a little lighter.

Now came the time to really help him. "So I guess since you've never really had any friends or family, no one's ever taken care of your or shown you affection. Right?"

"Right."

Dean knew what needed to be done now. "Will you let me take care of you?"

There was no mistaking the sudden brightness of his dull blue eyes. "Only if you're willing."

"Not only am I _willing_ , but I am definitely going to. But I need help from you, too. Okay?"

"Alright."

"First thing, you need to eat and drink some water. Is there any food here?"

He thought it over. "Probably not. I can't remember the last time I ate here."

Dean's heart broke just a little bit more at that. "What about running water?"

"Probably."

"Okay, I'm going to go see what I can find. Alright?"

"Okay, Dean."

Dean stood and walked to the doorway before turning. "I'm gonna be right back, Cas. I promise."

The only response was a rough, "I know, Dean."

 

 

The first thing Dean did was turn on the tap, which he was pleased to discover ran with water. Next step: find a glass. After opening all the cupboards, he finally found a lone orange cup. This he filled with the water. Despite what Cas had said, Dean still wanted to check to see if there was any food at all. The only edible thing to be found was a box of crackers. The barren house sent a surge of anger through him at Cas' dad, but Cas probably wouldn't be able to stomach anything more than crackers anyway.

Dean found Cas, unsurprisingly, in exactly the same position that he left him.

"Hey, I'm back. I brought water and some crackers."

"Thank you, Dean."

"Can you do me a favor, Cas? Can you sit up for me?"

Cas suddenly avoided his eyes, looking nervous. "It's okay Cas," Dean told him soothingly. "Just sit up for me so you get get some stuff in your system."

Cas took a deep, steadying breath, then began trying to sit up. It took a moment - after all, he hadn't so much as moved in two days - but eventually Cas was leaning against the headboard. Dean handed Cas the orange cup of water, which he drank quickly (again, _two days_ ). Half the box of crackers, and two more cups of water, Dean decided that Cas was (nutritionally) good enough for the time being.

The two stared at each other - something they seem to do a lot. Then it hit Dean: Cas has never had any friends or family. No one to take care of him. _No one to love him, or touch him, or show him affection._ He's probably never gotten a hug in his life.

"Hey Cas." Dean was suddenly nervous now. "Can I - can I do something?"

Cas squinted and tilted his head in a completely endearing way. "What do you want to do?"

Dean steadied himself. "I'd like to hug you."

It felt like an eternity later, but eventually Cas nodded. Dean moved slowly, giving Cas time to change his mind. But when he didn't, he scooped up the other guy in his arms carefully. Dean felt Cas stiffen at first, but then he got the idea and wrapped his (muscular) arms around Dean's waist tightly. Dean calmingly rubbed up and down his back with his hand, and Cas buried his face in the crook of Dean's neck. (Dean would never admit how much he enjoyed feeling the scruff of the other boy's face sitting against his skin.)

They stayed in each other's embrace for way longer than was socially acceptable, but Dean was  _way_ past caring about society's rules. Eventually Dean turned his head so he could whisper in his ear, "You never have to be alone again, Cas."

Dean felt Castiel's arms tighten around his middle and a corner of his mouth lift up ever so gently against his skin. "Thank you, Dean."

He pulled away, but only so much so to look Dean in the eye. Dean could have lost himself just staring into those blue orbs.  "So I have observed that nicknames are given to those one considers friends." Cas's eyes fluttered closed, and Dean realized that is was because he was stroking the short hairs at the base of his neck. 

He also realized exactly what Cas was asking:  _Are you my friend?_ Because, as Dean added things to the list of Stuff Cas Has Never Had Before, he knew that "a nickname" was right up there. "Of course, Cas. You are my friend."

His eyes lit up even brighter at that. He also seemed to be leaning into Dean's hands. "I believe I enjoy physical comfort."

"It can be extremely satisfying," Dean said. "So listen. Whenever you need help, or want to be touched or something, just let me know. I don't care if we're in public, alright? Any time. Capische?"

Cas nodded and said seriously, "I capische." After another moment he added, "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Okay. Do you think you can stand?"

"Yes." The pause wasn't as long this time. Dean stood, but remained close by if Cas needed help. Slowly the other boy threw back the covers (he hadn't even bothered to remove his shoes) and positioned himself such that his legs were hanging over the side of the bed, feet grazing the floor. 

Dean sensed his hesitation. "You can do it, Cas," he whispered. He extended his hand, but Cas didn't take it; instead, with a face of determination, he stood by himself for the first time in two days. Dean did not fail to see the significance of this moment. 

Finally standing, Cas was a lot closer than Dean thought he would be. They were practically the same height - Dean only had about one extra inch on the guy. Personal space clearly did not seem to be one of Cas' discomforts, around Dean at least. Without another word, Cas turned and left the room with slow, careful strides. 

By the time he had returned, Dean knew what needed to come next, but he was concerned about how awkward it could be, especially considering that Castiel looked exhausted after returning from the bathroom. "Cas, buddy?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"You need a shower." 

Cas searched Dean's face with a penetrating gaze before simply saying, "Okay." Though he looked like he could fall out. 

Dean gulped. "Do you - do you need help? Don't be ashamed to say 'yes'." 

Cas broke the intense eye contact to stare at the floor, pale cheeks turning a slight shade of red. In a small voice, he said, "Yes, please."

"Hey, that's fine. Go to your bathroom and take off as many clothes as you feel comfortable taking off. I'll find some different stuff for you to wear. Okay?"

Cas nodded, turned, and left again. 

Leaving Dean to his internal freak out. Because he just agreed to bathe a dude.  _This isn't about you. You're helping out someone who should've been helped a long time ago._

He took a deep breath, then began opening drawers in the only chest in the room. He grabbed a shirt, pair of sweatpants, socks, and boxers for Castiel and decided upon just a shirt for himself in case he got wet - he could re-wear his own clothing. 

It wasn't hard to find the bathroom, since it was the only room in the house that held any form of noise. When he entered, he was greeted with a sight that he wasn't prepared for but should've expected: Castiel was naked. 

Which was fine, all things considered. But, well.  _Damn_. Because, despite the whole not eating and every now and again inability to leave the bed thing, Cas was muscular. His shoulders were broad, and his stomach was firm, though not well-defined - unlike his hip bones, which were sharp. He was  _beautiful_. Dean stopped himself from looking any further.  _Dammit don't make him uncomfortable with your hella gay thoughts._

Cas didn't seem to notice the staring, though, because he was resolutely ignoring Dean's gaze as he leaned against the sink. Dean slowly placed a hand on his bare shoulder. "Hey, it's alright. Don't be uncomfortable. Let me take care of you."

Cas nodded, but still didn't look at Dean. "Okay." 

Dean turned on the water and, while waiting on it to get warm, removed his own shoes, socks, and pants, deciding that that was enough clothing on his part. He really didn't care about getting wet. 

When it was deemed warm enough, Cas stepped inside, followed by Dean. The former took a moment to let the water get him wet. Then Dean grabbed the soap and instructed the boy to turn around, and he began washing his back. Cas didn't say anything through this, just leaned heavily on the tile wall and let Dean do what he needed. Dean, meanwhile, ignored the feeling of the soapy skin underneath his hand. After all, this was not sexual at all - intimate, sure, but not sexual. It was, however, one friend taking care of another who needs a little extra help. 

Dean guided Castiel to turn around and their faces came within inches of each other in the small shower. Not that Cas noticed, though, because his eyes were closed. Dean began his ministrations on his front, and even his arms and legs (though he didn't touch the inner thigh area). Finally his body was clean. 

Now Dean turned Cas around again and grabbed the shampoo. Squeezing some into his palm, he then began threading it through Cas' wet hair, massaging his scalp. Cas leaned his head back, clearly enjoying this; he even let out a very pleased groan, which Dean resolutely ignored - after all, he didn't need his downstairs brain making a guest appearance. 

When that was finished, Dean turned the water off, stepped out into the chilly air, and grabbed a towel, drying off Cas. After deeming his body dry enough, he passed him the pair of boxers, which he put on while Dean towel dried his hair. He ran his fingers through it to make it settle down, and observed that Castiel's eyes fluttered closed again and he let out a soft sigh.  _He seems to really like when I touch his hair. Interesting._

Almost done. Two more things remained though: "Okay, now you need to brush your teeth and shave. Do you need help?" 

Cas looked to have regained some more color and wasn't leaning against something for support. Indeed, he shook his head and said, "I think I can handle this."

Dean nodded. "Alright then. Well, I'm not leaving you here. You're coming home with me. Okay?"

No hesitation. "Okay, Dean."

"I've got extra toiletries and stuff at my house, and you can share some of my clothes if you want."

He nodded. "I can pack a couple of my things, too."

Dean just looked at Cas and smiled. "I'm gonna go call my dad and let him know. I'll be right here if you need me." He was almost out of the bathroom before he felt compelled to add one last word: "Always."

 

 

It was later on that night that found Dean and Castiel sitting cross-legged on the Winchester's bed watching tv. When it got time for sleep, Cas stood slowly and began trudging toward the guest room they had set up for him. 

"Hey Cas?" Dean said, halting his friend's progress. 

"Yes Dean?"

"If you, uh, if you wanna do the whole 'physical comfort' thing at night, then we can." He rubbed his neck awkwardly -  _never_ would he say the word "cuddling".

Cas had no such qualms. "Thank you, Dean. Cuddling might be pleasant."

As Cas climbed into bed after turning the lights off, the both laid there on their backs, side-by-side, neither quite knowing what to do. Then Dean sighed, rolled onto his side, and said, "C'mere, Cas." Cas faced him as well and hesitatingly put his arms around him. Dean in turn did the same, though much tighter, pressing his friend as close as possible. Cas burrowed his face in Dean's neck, who began carding through the raven hair. He could feel Cas' eyelashes against his sensitive neck. Dean didn't know about Cas, but he himself was comforted by this arrangement and was asleep easily. 

 

 

Thus began a long healing process. After it soon became clear that Castiel's father would not be returning, he was allowed to stay with the Winchester's, sleeping with Dean every single night. It was a very bumpy road, though, and Cas still had depression. Sometimes he couldn't get out of bed still; he'd deny food; his body would tense during school. But he began talking with the counselor, and that seemed to help. 

The first really bad day was about two weeks later, when Cas accidentally found a picture of Mary and four-year-old Dean. He refused to leave the bed for thirteen hours. 

Dean knew at times it was best to give him space, so he didn't stay with him the entire time; however,  he did go in at least once every hour to just talk to him and be a soothing presence. Whenever Cas couldn't go to school, neither did Dean - no, he stayed to take care of Castiel. 

Dean also quickly learned that Cas had nightmares, too. Sometimes the body shaking in his arms would wake him up; sometimes it was hoarse sleep-talking. They would talk about them, whenever Cas felt like sharing, and they usually involved harsh abandonment or dark figures lurking. Dean would hold Cas tighter and run his hand through his hair until they both fell back asleep. 

But the days were Cas was alright slowly began to outnumber the bad days, and he started to come out of his shell. He and Dean would talk for hours about nonsense. Cas was exceptionally intelligent; eventually he warmed up to Sam, and the two became close as well. Dean thought his heart would explode from fondness. Cas even began talking to Charlie at school, who was gracious to understand that it was necessary to tone down herself a tad. 

The first time Cas ever raised his hand in class, Dean was right there holding his other one. That was a remarkable moment. 

The first time Dean noticed that maybe his feelings for Castiel weren't strictly platonic kind of struck him out of nowhere. He began to see that he and Cas were usually touching in some way. While he at first thought it was purely for comfort (which, really, it kind of was), he suddenly realized that  _he_ was generally the one to touch first, not Cas, but Cas  _always_  leaned in to the touch. It didn't matter if they were in public - neither cared. But Dean also knew that Cas was just relying on him for comfort, not feelings, so if Dean said anything he'd likely destroy their relationship and, in the process, Cas. And, well. That absolutely could not happen. 

That didn't stop another first from happening. 

 

 

It was a Monday morning about five months after Cas began living with the Winchesters, and the first official day of summer vacation. Dean woke up slowly with an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach.  _Probably just the aftermath of some dream._ He stretched and groaned; it took half a second to realize what the uneasiness was from. 

He was alone in bed. 

Cas  _never_ woke up first, more or less left the bed first. There were major alarms screaming in Dean's head, all along the lines of _where is Cas is he okay did something happen Cas Cas Cas._ He threw the sheets off of himself and went in search of his missing friend. 

He found him in the kitchen. 

Two important things about Castiel that Dean had learned these past months: he oddly enjoyed doing dishes, but didn't seem to care for music. Always, whenever he was having a good day, he would do the dishes after the meals the men ate. Dean (who hated dishes with a passion) came to exceptionally love the sight of an empty sink, for that only meant that Cas did them and was in decent spirits. Also, he didn't take to music like Dean did. Cas could never be found listening to music himself for any reason whatsoever; he never tapped his foot or bobbed his head to the beat; and he certainly never sang. Though he never dissuaded Dean from this particular enjoyment of his - in fact, he most often encouraged it, saying, "If this makes you happy, then I can certainly deal with it." When Dean walked into the kitchen that one Saturday morning, Cas was doing the dishes. 

And  _humming._

"Can't Fight This Feeling" by REO Speedwagon, a song he most definitely picked up from the times Dean had been listening.   

Dean simply stood with a swollen heart watching the man who was now his best friend - the one who was  _humming_  for what might honestly be the first time in his life. The one who was doing dishes, which screamed that he was in a good mood. Dean knew what this meant - slowly but surely, Cas was healing. He could cry out of pure relief. The humming, which was actually kind of terrible, was the most beautiful sound that he had ever heard in his entire life. Not to mention, the way Cas looked. His hair was messy and he hadn't shaved yet; the t-shirt he wore (which was Dean's, not that he cared) was baggy, and his pajama pants weren't particularly flattering to his figure, but he looked  _incredible_ nonetheless _._ Not to mention, the early morning sunlight was hitting his face just right, illuminating his already clear eyes into something ethereal and casting a golden glow on his bed head. 

Castiel looked like an angel. 

It struck Dean at that moment exactly how much he was in love with this other boy. 

That was also the moment that Cas seemed to realize he was being watched; indeed, he turned to Dean, ceasing his washing and humming. But it didn't matter, because Cas fixed Dean with the softest look he's ever seen grace the other's features, complete with an actual, bona fide  _smile_. Sure, he didn't smile with any teeth, and his lips were barely upturned; but it was all in his deep blue eyes. They were the happiest Dean had seen. 

He didn't think: in three steps he crossed the kitchen, placed one hand on the back of Cas' head and the other on his waist, and kissed him. There was about half a second where Cas didn't react and Dean thought for sure that he had ruined everything the two had built. Then the absolute most amazing thing happened:  _Cas kissed him back._ The kiss began softly enough - Dean wasn't going to push it, so he was (pleasantly) surprised when he felt Cas' tongue swipe across his bottom lip. After that, it became a deep display of caring, complete with licking, nipping, and sucking, enough to make Dean's knees weak - this may have been Castiel's first kiss, but he more than made up for inexperience with emotion. Eventually the need for air forced both boys to break apart, so they stood, still tightly holding each other with their foreheads pressed together. 

(Good thing John was at work and Sam was with friends.)

The rest of the day was spent watching movies cuddled on the couch and trading kisses. 

Unsurprisingly, this shift did very little to actually change the nature of their relationship. They were still just Dean 'n Cas, Cas 'n Dean. Of course, they did kiss quite a bit more than before, which was  _amazing_  in Dean's opinion. 

 

 

Sometimes Cas still had nightmares and sometimes refused to leave bed. On these days, Dean pressed gentle kisses all over him, to prove that he  _cared._

Sometimes, on his worst days, he'd say that he knew Dean didn't actually care, that he just pitied him, and that he apologized profusely for ruining his life. Dean would cling to him so tightly that he was surprised it wasn't painful, and he whispered over and over in his ear, " _I'm right here. I care about you. I am taking care of you. I will protect you. I care."_ Each sentence would be punctuated with a kiss. 

Sometimes he didn't want to eat. Dean told him that he'd kiss him if he finished his meal (and pretended not to notice Sam gagging in the background). 

 

 

A random day in July was when he first said the words, though there wasn't even really anything to provoke it. When Dean entered the kitchen he saw Cas eating a bagel, and suddenly he brain almost burst with  _the words_ reverberating within his skull, and he knew he had to get them out. 

"Cas, I love you." No preamble, straight to the point. 

Castiel put down the bagel and, looking directly into Dean's eyes, said, "I love you too." He then proceeded to smile  _with teeth_ , using what was the most beautifully gummy smile Dean had ever seen. Dean grabbed him and kissed him, hard. It was the first of many more _I love you_ ’s to come. 

That night was the first time they had sex. But it really wasn't sex - it was making love. As they lay there, tangled together, naked and sweaty, they traded languid kisses. Dean thought, for once, that he himself may never leave this bed, not when Cas was with him. Of course he knew that Castiel would never be entirely rid of depression, but he would be alright  _\- they_ would be okay. Each problem would be faced together, one step at a time. 

Everything would be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks! Kudos/ comments are like hugs, for the record


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